


professional or personal

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [75]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Jack Crawford/Bella Crawford, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, Light Angst, Minor Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Bedelia has taken married lovers before. 
But she's never fallen in love with one of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElasticElla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/gifts).



> written for the marvelous Ella, who prompted me with "bedelia/bella + bedelia often takes lovers, but she doesn't expect to actually fall in love with them."
> 
> as always, please note the warnings in the tags.

Bedelia has taken married lovers before.

Some of their names have left her memory over the years, but she carries images, sensations of each of them in her mind; a murmured telephone call to a spouse, a ray of sun glinting off a polished golden ring, the heady smell of another's perfume on the curve of a wrist. Most of them were like trinkets; beautiful for awhile, then quickly vanishing under a layer of dust at the back of the curio closet. 

With all of her lovers, married or unmarried, she feels nothing more than the base lust of an animal and the barest edge of professional curiosity. She feels nothing when they leave her for the final time, murmuring something about being caught by their spouse, or something about growing the semblance of a conscience. 

Some of them have the gall to suggest to her that she ought to try the latter. When this comes up, she smiles, her lipstick cutting like knives into her cheeks as her mouth stretches open. 

That makes them take the final step back over her threshold. All of them. 

Some of them love her. But the very thought of returning such an emotion seems beyond inappropriate to her; it's distasteful and stupid, a mistake she would never allow herself to make even _if_ the idea appeared in the deepest levels of her conscious mind. 

But that's before Bella Crawford appears on her front door, as immaculate as her name suggests, flawless from head to toe. A light dusting of snow rests on the wide brim of her hat and her mouth, darkened with burgundy lipstick, is furled into a Mona Lisa smile. 

"I'm no longer seeing patients," Bedelia says, tightening her grip on the stem of her wine glass. One tight squeeze would be enough to crunch it, to shatter it into fragments she could drive into someone's face.

"Hannibal Lecter told me that you would say that," she replies, smile widening enough to show a quick flash of teeth.

A bitter taste fills Bedelia's mouth, floods every inch of it. She purses her lips and swallows. She is used to the sensation, but that does not mean she has learned to enjoy it. 

"And what else did Hannibal Lecter tell you about me?" she replies, clenching her fingers just the slightest bit tighter. 

"That he trusted you." A leather clad hand crosses Bedelia's threshold, the fingers loosely parted. "I'm Bella Crawford. Jack Crawford's wife." 

Bedelia is familiar with the names, both of them. Having the wife of one of the FBI's top leaders sitting in her living room already seems like something she will regret, but if word gets to Hannibal that she had rejected his patient-

( _his gift_ )

-she is fairly certain that the consequences will be detrimental to her career, should she ever choose to throw herself back into it. 

She swallows again. 

"Would you like to come in?" she asks, stepping out of the doorway. Snow has drifted in, settled on her shoes.

"Could I trouble you for some wine?" Bella asks, stripping off her hat and gloves in what seems like one motion, fluid as a river. "There's a nip in the air today." 

"Yes," Bedelia murmurs, glancing at the curves revealed as Bella slides her coat from her shoulders, "there is."

&.

In only a month, the time they spend in Bedelia's bed far surpasses the time they spend in her living room, going through the motions of therapy.

Their conversations serve as foreplay, an exercise in sharp tongues and wit rather than an exposure of personal truths. The time it takes to drink one glass of wine is more than enough to set the scene, to have Bella toeing off her shoes and leading the way down the hallway, bare feet leaving ghost prints on the wooden floor. 

She's a demanding lover, but equal in both giving and taking. No matter how many times Bedelia makes her arch her back until her throat is pressed towards the ceiling, no matter how her inner thighs gleam with her own slickness, Bella is never truly satisfied until Bedelia's lungs ache from the strain of pulling in breath, until she no longer trusts her legs to support her own weight. Only then does Bella allow herself to rest against the pillows, to pull Bedelia's silken sheets up to the soft curve of her waist. 

Sometimes, she says that she wishes she had a cigarette, and Bedelia finds herself wishing that she had some stashed away somewhere, just so she could watch Bella fit one between her lips, see if her lipstick would cling to the end when she's finished with it.

&.

Three months after Bedelia opens her door, on a winter day that has more of a wolf's bite than a gentle nip, Bella glances back over one shoulder, fingers automatically hooking her bra back into place.

"You never ask me about Jack," she says, lowering her hands back to her lap. Bedelia reaches out and runs one fingertip down the length of Bella's spine, still damp with sweat.

"Would you like me to?" she replies, raising an eyebrow as her finger catches on the lace of Bella's underwear. "Would you like me to acknowledge the elephant crouching in the corner?" 

"Only if you'd care to," Bella says, taking her strand of pearls from Bedelia's nightstand. Without prompt, Bedelia moves, sits up on her knees and takes the clasp of Bella's pearls when it's passed behind her neck. 

"Then perhaps we shall ignore it a little longer," she murmurs, hooking the clasp into place and settling the cool metal against Bella's still-flushed skin. 

Even after Bella leaves, sliding back into the snow covered evening, an elephant remains in the room, in _every_ room of Bedelia's home. This one is far harder for her to ignore than the one shaped like Jack; it's candy-striped, florescent, a vision of screaming color demanding her attention, her analysis.

Her professional curiosity about Bella has, for the most part, dissipated. But that curiosity has been replaced by something far more overbearing, something that dominates her mind and makes her thoughts turn to the future. 

She suspects that the _something_ is what love is supposed to feel like: imagining where the other person will be in six months time, and hoping that they'll be with you. 

She's just barely made herself decent again when there's a knock at the front door. The rhythm of the sound betrays the identify of her guest and for a moment, she thinks about staying in the depths of her bedroom, waiting for Hannibal to simply leave. 

But he must know that she is home. He's quite possibly been parked just out of sight for the last few hours, waiting for Bella to leave. Ignoring him would be rude, would invoke a sense of impropriety that she doesn't exactly want Hannibal to associate with her.

She does delay in the kitchen, just long enough to pour herself a glass of wine. 

Almost as soon as he steps inside, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, nostrils twitching minutely. Bedelia watches him for only a moment before she turns her back and proceeds to the living room. 

After the formalities of small talk have passed between them, Hannibal leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers in his lap, staring at her. 

"How are your sessions with Bella Crawford proceeding?" he asks. The muscles of his face are not contorted into a smirk, but Bedelia can see one there anyways, lingering underneath, turning his face into something ugly, reptilian. 

"Is your curiosity professional or personal?" she replies. His thin lips press closer together. 

"Professional. Of course."

"Then our sessions are progressing. We still have much work to do." She takes a deep sip of wine, savors it as it slides down her throat. She drains half the glass before she lowers it to her lap and allows her lips to quirk up into an almost smile. 

"How are your sessions with Will Graham proceeding?"

Hannibal does not visibly blanch or flinch, but for just a moment, his eyes flicker, and Bedelia buries a smirk of her own into the rim of her glass. 

&.

Five months after Bella appears on her step as a radiant vision, on a day where the air is pregnant with the impending spring, they don't make it to the bedroom.

It takes Bedelia a few moments, afterwards, to pull herself back into a sitting position. Her skirt is still bunched around her waist and Bella is on the floor, head resting against her knee, talented fingers slowly tracing the tense muscles of Bedelia's calves. Bedelia's hand rests lightly on Bella's natural hair, gently brushing over her thick curls. 

There's something warm flickering in Bedelia's chest. Happiness, she believes, more powerful than she's ever experienced. It's a feeling she could get used to. 

Moments after that thought crosses her mind, Bella gets to her feet and takes her dress from the back of the couch. 

"I can't leave Jack," she says simply, looking at Bedelia with dark, clear eyes. 

"I won't ask you to," Bedelia replies, keeping eye contact for what she deems long enough to make her statement believable before she drops her gaze to her lap, straightens her skirt and blouse. 

"Thank you." Bella leans in and presses her lips against Bedelia's, hard as a bruise. When she pulls away, she turns around and tugs her dress on, the expanse of her back revealed between the parted fabric. 

"Could you please zip me up?" she asks, brushing a thick clump of hair away from her nape. 

Bedelia obliges. Once the zipper has glided home, she lingers for a moment, fingers resting on the base of Bella's neck, just memorizing the feel of her skin, pocked here and there by old acne scars, from an adolescence she has revealed almost nothing about. 

"Will we still be having our Friday session?" Bedelia asks, forcing herself to step away. Bella twists around, smiling, the same smile she had all those weeks ago when Bedelia first found her on the doorstep. 

"I think it's best that we don't," she says softly, stepping into her heels without lowering her gaze from Bedelia's face. "Don't you?" 

"Yes," Bedelia says and for only a moment, she's perturbed at how difficult it is to push the rest of her sentence from her lips. "I think that would be best."

&.

She expects Hannibal to show up on her threshold sooner rather than later.

What she _doesn't_ expect is for him to look borderline disheveled when he does. His tie and pocket square are minutely askew and there's a day and a half of stubble spreading across his cheeks. There's a bottle of wine, a spectacularly expensive one, cradled in his hands, which he holds out to her like an offering as he steps inside. 

She takes it gratefully. 

"Will Graham," she states, stepping aside so that he can hang up his coat. 

"Will has concluded that he is no longer in need of therapy. From me, at least," he replies, cinching his tie tighter. His nose twitches minutely and he glances at her, one eyebrow raised inquiringly. "And Bella Crawford?"

"Also no longer in need of therapy," Bedelia says shortly, turning on her heel and striding towards the kitchen. She grabs a corkscrew from a drawer and, after a moment of pondering, wraps her fingers around the strongest bottle of whiskey she has resting on her counter. 

She's not sure about Hannibal, but she thinks it might take something stronger than wine to finally wash the taste of heartache from her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
